


I like you, greenie.

by lalers



Series: I love you, Greenie. [1]
Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-07 08:02:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3167504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalers/pseuds/lalers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt and Thomas. Thomas and Newt. They were fearless, iconic, passionate and they could go on and on but a quitter is not on that list. </p><p>"They call me Thomas. Boy, we are going to be the best of friends. I can feel it," Newt let go of his hand once the encounter was over, "We better go to breakfast, we're already late."</p><p>As Thomas ushered him out, he resisted against the push and pointed out that, "You don't even know my name."</p><p>They were both out of the door, Thomas closing it and Newt could see the other pile of kids their age heading toward a constant location. Thomas snorted, "Hi, Isaac Newton. Or Newton. Or Isaac, whatever. Nice to meet you, now could you please get your arse to hurry up, we're late." </p><p>Newt decided that he liked Thomas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> guys. I tried uploading this on wattpad and hESUS. They would rate me R and restrict other people from reading my work. like. no. 
> 
> but yeah, enjoy this. 
> 
> hope i didn't grill your feels too much. cause i grilled mine.

It was cold, that's all he could think of as he was working in the lab that night. Thomas has yet to return to his room, Newt would be worried if he didn't come soon. He'd think that he was sent to the maze. Thomas sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, looking at his monitor for the last time. It showed the brain activity of Galileo, Gally, someone who's been there for years now. He looked to his left where they showcased a large screen that shows the Glade. He wished that he could just go in there himself, rescue them, show them out, return their memory back. 

The lab was not empty, but it felt like it. Scientists were scattered everywhere, but none making even a single peep of a noise. Newt had been sent back to their room early, he was caught looking in the monitor room by one of the superiors. Thomas had his heart in his throat when they said that he needed punishment, but the tension was released when they told him that Newt was sent off with a warning, and that he was suspended from the lab for two days. That meant no food or water for the poor lad. It wasn't good, but Thomas was relieved that he hadn't been sent to the maze. God knows what he would've done. 

He looked across him and there sat one of his closest friends, Winston. He offered him a smile, but it was a quick nano-second before a frown etched on his face and he returned to work. Thomas looked around. What is he doing? Why is he doing this? 

He huffed at Gally's brain waves, and decided to call it a day. He wrapped up his work station, logged out of the monitor and grabbed his side-strap bag. He gave a small wave to Winston's way, him offering one back, and made his way back to the beds. 

The WICKED building is big, even without the maze - it was still pretty big. They had more than four hundred room, each space containing two beds, one bathroom, and at the very least - a small cabinet to be shared between the population. 

He remembered when this was all so new, how the smell of angry grass still haunts him all the way from the maze, he could hear their cries whenever one of the Beetle Blades would come near. It was horrifying and, in all honesty, he had forgotten exactly why he was there in the first place. 

Their room made an appearance and for the first time in the night, he felt relieved. He pushed the door slowly to be greeted by dim lights, cold ventilation, and silence. He felt his hand reaching for a right wall and turned on the lights. There, on his bed, he could see a sleeping Newt. When he got closer there was something wrong though, a new wound stretching from his hair line just to the bottom of his jaw. Thomas traced it softly and my finger ran over a pudgy patch that sent Newt's nerves to a jolt. 

He sat upright and looked at the other scientist dead in the eyes with fear, shock, and complete terror bleeding from his eyes. He looked in his eyes, and Thomas felt his heart ache as his fingers dabbed the boy's side.

"Hush, Newt, it's me," he cooed into the blond hair, "it's me love, Tommy. Calm down."

And then they lay there, in the dark. Of course, petrified with the idea of another worker to stumble upon them laying in one bed, a mess of limbs and tears and fear. God, so much fear. Thomas held Newt that night, looking down at his hair and breathing his scent over and over again. Newt tried to talk about the wound.

"When they got me... the Guards, they whacked me with some shit long stick," Newt said carefully, arms in air to express the motion, "my head went flyin' back, hittin' a wall, but they didn't care though." 

Thomas winced in sympathy and offered him a kiss, Newt accepted with a sickening crack in his neck. The dark haired boy out of the pair, seemed to ignore such noise and told his lover to go to sleep. That he'll be there when he wakes up. They're not going to disappear in the night because they were forced to leave the building and into the maze because, no - that's not going to happen. Thomas wouldn't let it. Not in a million years. 

The first time Newt met Thomas was in his twelfth year of living on planet Earth. The only thing he remembered was waking up in a warm bed with vast, tawny, vivid eyes. When the owner of the too-beautiful eyes noticed that he was awake, the kid's cupid-bow lips quirked up into a grin.

"Hey there! You're my room mate now, we're bunk mates! Dude, this is big. Are you in this for the long run? Cause if you are, then so am I. We're going to wreck this place, alright? You and me, we're going to be amazing, blaze the whole thing up. Oh, my, God. You should've seen your little, square face looking all dead-like. When they came in and carried you with that woman who greeted me by the gates, my mind was all like 'Whaaaaaaaaaaat?' Cause I've been alone for two months now? I guess I'm really lucky to have a room mate now, when the clock strikes ten - it sort of goes horrid. There's a lot of screaming out the door, so I can't imagine feeling that kind of fear alone again. Glad to have you, bro. Yeah, this is as far as the room gets. Bunk bed, bathroom, crap T.V., and this really old cabinet. Make yourself at home, I'm at the bottom bunk," Newt had to blink once or twice and inhale and exhale to process what the kid had just said. The boy kept going on and on, and despite the fear of being in an unusal place separated from his mum, the conscious chattering calmed him. When he looked like he was about to talk, the boy reserved himself. Now that he had a good look at his sleep intruder, the Boy was wearing a white tee with dark blue plaid pajama pants. 

"You called my face square," was his only reply. The Boy laughed and extended his hand.

"They call me Thomas. Boy, we are going to be the best of friends. I can feel it," Newt let go of his hand once the encounter was over, "We better go to breakfast, we're already late."

As Thomas ushered him out, he resisted against the push and pointed out that, "You don't even know my name."

They were both out of the door, Thomas closing it and Newt could see the other pile of kids their age heading toward a constant location. Thomas snorted, "Hi, Isaac Newton. Or Newton. Or Isaac, whatever. Nice to meet you, now could you please get your arse to hurry up, we're late." 

Newt decided that he liked Thomas. 

They woke up before dawn, having grown into this routine for more than two year already. They wake up before the Wake-up, separate themselves, shower, and get along with their day. It's easy, Newt thinks, he can check out Thomas in the cafeteria when they're half a room apart and yet no one would pipe in and ask him questions. But Tommy, oh lord, this boy was as subtle as the flare. There were moments where they were in a meeting and Tom's eyes would linger on Newt's pale skin and the next second, Winston's calling him out and making everyone tease Tom about a having a crush on 'Newtieboy.' Newt would blush from the other side. 

The first time Thomas realised he liked Newt was after this one lesson of mathematics. They were no older than fourteen, both heading to lunch, and Thomas just looked at Newt and saw the smile he offered and his hands start shaking, knees feeling like they're about to grow frail beneath him; and then Gally pushed pass him and Newt's smile falters when the big bully laughed in Thomas' face. Thomas showed no fear because in his perspective, he was WICKED's darling. The favourite of Chancellor Ava Paige. The title had some sickening pride attached to it, but Thomas took it non-the-less. Gally was one of the rejects, the kids hated him, the staff thinks he's a big brat, and the Chancellor despises him. Thomas smirked at Gally and told him to get lost. That made the mingy boy mailed a punch to Thomas' mushy face and then a crowd gathered. Thomas fought back, as much as he could, but he knew Gally had been there longer than him and that they had thought him things that he was yet to go through. Plus, Gally's older. 

"Break it up! Break it up!" their teacher screamed behind the expanding faction. Gally was punching him all over, the chest, arms, face, chest, just everywhere, and was also shouting things about how he should take back what he said because he doesn't know 'nuttin.' It was close, the part where he passes out to fatigue and paroxysm. Close. 

Soon, he felt the mass of Gally's body off him and hauled into a different location. He pivoted his head to the side and saw that now it was Newt beating Gally up. Thomas knows that Newt is younger than Gally and a better fighter because instead of taking Physiography, he took Preliminary with the other 'fit' boys of our age and above or lower. The blows that were dispatched by Newt were sharp and rigorous. He took a moment to be selfish and stare in apprehension of how much his bunk mate has matured. From the twiggy and unzipped boy to this concenter and stalwart young man. Newt was still having a spar with Gally when he sent him a wink and a smirk. 

And that's it. 

That's all it took.

Thomas like liked Newt. 

They don't know, no one does, about their relationship. They've made it official a long time ago, way before they placed Minho into the maze.It was a late night, and Thomas was working the early morning shifts as in early morning ante-meridian. Newt was passing by with two glasses of coffee, he lurked over Tom's cubicle and settled the mug on the small table where his notebooks and pens lay.

"You know," Newt said as his fingers brushed up to the bridge of his nose to push back his glasses, "You don't have to work a late shift. It's still new, no one really cares," and that's when the blond tall cute boy is wrong. Thomas had always cared, he cares too much for his own good, and he told Newt as such. 

"Newt, no one's supervising them! What if the maze malfunctions and the grievers destroy everything we've worked on? Newt, there's only a limited chance that this trial is going to work. Newt, we don't have a guaranteed-" and that was when Newt huffed a breath, let down his cup, and grabbed each side of Thomas' stupid face to kiss him. 

It was slow, sweet, and wanted from the blooming love. They've confessed their attraction toward the other, and Thomas swears that his heart and brain is going miles per minute. Without thinking about anything else, the flustered scientist dumped all of his workings messily into a bag whilst the other one laughed softly at his lover's antics. Surprised when his hand was gripped by fingers of silk and yanked him out of the office. 

It was Newt that asked Thomas out, they were laying in the lower bunk - Thomas', after their slow and steamy exchange of new-found love. He tried to make it romantic, tried. 

"So, uh, do ya wanna go out with me or?" the boy pondered aimlessly in the dark, his fingers playing in the other man's nest of hair. There was silence before a loud, stomach laugh erupted from Thomas. 

"Oh, dude, dude," he wheezed, fingers slapping against Newt's bare thigh, "you did not just ask me out after we had sex. Oh, my God, how iconic!" another laugh, and Newt was done for. He sank lower in the bed and kissed Thomas hard and slow to show how much he was serious in this. When he pulled away, Tommy's eyes were sparkling in the dark. 

With a hushed whisper he replied, "Yes, you big idiot." 

Of course, being a part of WICKED was stressing. There were a lot of subjects being tested on that died, some going completly crazy, and most ended up lost in the maze. Newt lost count on how many nights Thomas has kept himself from sleeping and keeping himself awake with the lab-rats' screams, forcing himself to help them - give them a hint.

"The maze is a code, Newt! Why aren't they getting that?" he screamed in their room one night, Newt forced himself up and tangled his limbs around the shorter boy and shushed him. His palm scattering dust all over the other's cheek, lips trying to calm the veins on his neck, it was never ending torture for Newt. For him, it was not that hard blocking out the screams of the other experiments; to him, as long as he had Thomas, everything was alright. That's exactly what he fears every time the younger boy had an attack, that he wasn't enough to be a distraction, that there will always be someone better. 

Of course, Thomas - that oblivious mother fucker, did not see this. Their relationship was well-built, it was healthy, no one knew about them. That was until a new girl was brought in, a year after they've became official. Her name was Teresa, or something like that, Newt doesn't really care. Anyway, it was Teresa that managed to calm down Thomas. It was her that asked him if he remembered where he was before, and he answered. Thomas was a really closed guy, he shuts himself in fear and stress and panic. But this? This new girl that showed up barely an hour ago? She opened him. It was heart aching in lunch, where he would sit on the opposite side of the cafeteria because that's where he belongs, and stare at Thomas longingly because he wouldn't even glance back, all of his undivided attention goes toward the beautiful girl ahead of him. 

God, in the months where Newt was there, he despised Teresa. He'd slither into Thomas' cubicle in his early morning ante-meridian shifts and Oh, hell, it's that girl again. She's in the cube that's right in front of his boyfriend's. Oh, fuck no, not anymore - Newt thought, he was going to devour Thomas. It's killing him inside to see that Thomas is slowly forgetting about him and blocking him out. Sure, at night they would return to the same bedroom. But never the same bed anymore; and that fucking sucks, okay? It sucks. So, Newt walked up to Thomas and slid into his arms. Thomas' eyes were blown wide, but he hugged the blond boy's small body tight to his chest. 

"Uh, hi, Newt?" he asked from above the taller boy's head, his eyes drifting between blond hair and Teresa's amused eyes. He tried to pat Newt's back but that only resulted in his lover breathing hot breaths into his ear. He looked around to make sure that no one else was watching and stole a quick kiss from Newt. When they both locked eyes, Thomas had concern and curiosity etched on his tan-skinned face. 

"Well, it looks like someone needs you, Tom. I better get going anyway, I think Brenda's searching for me... So... I'll see ya tomorrow. Newt," Teresa nodded at him, "it was nice, uh, meeting you," she laughed. Then waved at the two boys and went the other direction. When Newt looked up again, Thomas had a joyous smirk on his face. 

"Isaac, were you jealous?" Thomas teased, tone playful and affectionate. Newt's pale cheeks turned into a shade of scarlet as he lightly slapped his thigh. Then he made a decision, two can play the game of tease. After all, to win you just have to choose the right kind. So, Newt leaned down to where he could reach the top of Thomas' ears and with all the desperation and needy whine he could master moaned, "I need you. Please, Tommy, please."

After that night, every thing was back to normal, Newt didn't see Teresa as a threat - but more of a sister to Thomas than anything else, Thomas finally opened his fucking eyes (Newt's words) to see that his actions were misunderstood and seem like he was pushing Newt away for his new friend, Thomas has less attacks now, and after that night they've always slept in the same bed.

Well, everyday until Thomas was shocked by a decision in the boardroom of chancellor and staff. They have decided on the next experiment. 

It was a fine morning, and Thomas was walking in a narrow corridor that held the meeting room and the manager of the Beetle Blades, about to ask if his monitor could get access to all the footage they have of Gally, more observations because I've ran out, when his ears caught an interesting discussion just behind the slim wooden door with the metal plate that spells out 'Meeting Room.' 

"Chancellor, have you decided on who's next? Is that why we're called?" a voice from inside asked, Thomas could feel the hair on his neck creep up as a shiver fought its way through his spine. There was a pause then, as recognised by voice, the Chancellor - Ava Paige- spoke, tone with authority and weakness in the same time.

"Yes, I have chosen the next candidate, Mark. But I am not happy to say so," she said, the melancholy tone and words had Thomas' eyebrows furrow deeper, as if trying to reach the other in a bet. Someone in the room voiced his confusion and the next second was when his world crumbled. 

"The chosen one is subject Isaac Newton," her voice wavered when she pronounced his name. When the four syllables made their way out as sounds into Thomas' ears, they sounded worse than a grunt of a Griever. He felt like running to the maze and punching at its walls. The files of paper dropped onto the floor with soft thud. With shaky hands, and skin too loose, he grabbed the papers and ran with his life toward their room where he knew Newt would be. When he rushed in, Newt stood up with a smile that soon was replaced with a frown. 

"Why are you crying, love?" Thomas didn't even realise that he was crying, his heart was beating miles per hour, and not even Newt's soft touches could calm him down. The blond had led him to his lower bunk and as soon as his hands felt the soft sheets, the one where they've exchanged little whispers and love, a sob retched its way out of his lungs. He kept on crying, trying to get the message to Newt, but he had only shut him down. 

"N-n-Ne," God, it even hurt to say his name now, "the-they... they," sob. 

Newt moved so that he was behind Thomas, each leg falling down outside the very sad boy's legs, his arms forming a ring around Thomas, holding him tight to his chest, and his mouth aligned flawlessly with Thomas' right ear. He rests his chin on the other boy's shoulder, his head bopping with the slight shaky breath from each sob. With a slow voice he whispers, "Sh, Tommy, sh, it's alright. Just let it go. It's okay. I've got you," et cetera. The little encouragements made him cry even more, the tears are inevitable now, and Thomas thinks that if he keeps this up for five more minutes, he would need a bucket. It hurts, not just his heart or brain, but his lungs are burning, throat feels like he's swallowed rocks, and his eyes are red. His bawling has slowed down into little whims and sniffs. There was a long pause where Newt was there, holding him and rocking him back and forth to calm him down before Thomas registered Newt's own crippled voice and wimps that sounded more like glass breaking in his ears.

"I know, God, I know, okay? I know about the freakin' choice," sob, "they came to me today a-at lunch, told me I have less than two weeks before they come 'nd get me. I didn't feel like it anymore and just waited for you to return because..." there was a long pause and Thomas stretched his head so that he could look Newt's face. The poor boy looked lost, hurt, crushed, and irate. Dried tear tracks and eyes of flames looked at him and then he stood up. Thomas sat on the bed, a look of turmoil slapped on his face. Then Newt took his hand and Thomas' confusion grew, then he kneeled on one knee. It felt like someone punched him in the guts when Newt opened the black box and a silver ring gleaming under the silky light of the bed lamp. Thomas sucked in a breath, and he felt disoriented because 

"Newt, Newt, what?" Thomas muttered, because what this boy is unbelievable. He's practically about to be sent to Death, and here he is showing Thomas a freaking ring what. 

Newt smiled gingerly, "Uh, yeah, I've been planning the for a while now... Like, a long while, since the past four months, I think. Anyway, yeah, look Thomas," the dark-haired's heart skipped a beat, "you were my first friend here, we bunked and I remember the times when we were platonic," Thomas snickered because if anything, they were almost never platonic, "And we would talk on separate beds about our day and you would fret about how Winston was such a pisshole and drew a penis on your monitor, or how Matt passed in the cafeteria and nearly whacked your lunch out of your digestive system," Thomas laughed because he remembered those days. It's not like it stopped happening, they still grin about their days - but now just on his bed. 

"And I would stare at the ceiling just wishing that I could laugh with you on your bed, and fall asleep with you, watch the darn telly with you, God, my world revolved around you; and I wouldn't have it any other way. You're the first face I want to see when I wake up, and the last when the day ends. You know, for a few moments after they told me that I would be sent off in two weeks, I was selfish enough to imagine what would happen if I wasn't one of us. If I had died the second the sun flared, with my parents, and never living a second breath after. Imagining things like who your room mate would be, most likely Minho, thinking that if not me - than probably Teresa's heart, I imagined who you would sit next to, and who would have the power to make you cry when one of you gets sent to the maze. It would've been easier, right? If I didn't exist, if this whole thing didn't exist? 

"I love you, Tommy. My Tommy. And before I'm sent to my... fate, I just want our love to be eternal. I want to be sent to the maze with a ring on my finger, I don't want to forget, Tommy, I don't. I don't want to forget you, and us, and the bunking days, and laughing, and kissing, and just everything, Tommy. I love you. I love you, like, a lot, and I don't want to forget that. 

"God forbid, I might even see you in the maze one day, and I'll know. We'll both know, because I'm not letting one of us go in there and forgetting all of this, alright? I love you, Tommy. Will you marry me?" 

Thomas would be a friggin' liar if he claimed that he wasn't crying, because he was. Weeping like the bloody weakling he is, he motioned for Newt to stand up - he did, and nodded sluggishly, as if not ready to believe that Newt would leave him in two weeks. They enveloped each other tightly, Newt breaking it for a second to slip the ring into Thomas' slim third finger. The other boy staring at the blond with so much adoration and affection, before he pulled the other's jaw only to have their lips chase his own. This might be that happiest and saddest memory in both of their lives. Thomas fumbled a little that night, unable to keep his hands still, and Newt turned around and asked him with a tired voice, "Tommy? You alright? What's wrong?"

And then the lights were switched on and Newt and his cute fucking bed hair and crumpled t-shirt, looked at him with droopy eyes that his lazy fingers are currently brushing. Thomas blushed because he had just woken up Newt, the one who's supposed to have trouble sleeping, because he can't stop fidgeting. His fingers were tangled with each other as he spoke. 

"It's just that," Gahh, he sounds stupid. It's two a.m. and here he is, waking up Newt and talking to him in a stupid distress.

"It's just that I'm wearing a ring and you're not." When the sentence came out, Thomas had his head in his hands and Newt's eyebrows jumped in surprise. Newt, bless that sweet boy, knew that Thomas would be fussing over this. He knew. So, he rubbed at his face one more time and reach at the top bunk, which was easy because he sleeps on the outside, and brought his hand down with a smaller, cerulean box. He bumped his shoulder with the boy in affliction. When Thomas looked up, a look of dread washed over and he immediately pushed a palm at the cube.

"No, no, Newt," his voice straining on his voice, "I have to buy the damned ring, not you. Newt, Oh lord, Newt, honestly. Let me buy you the ring. You don't want to forget me? Then let me buy you the fucking ring, okay? Trust me, it's alright, let me buy it. I'll go to Teresa or something, see if her aunt can sneak in a ring inside the next time she visits. Please, Newt. Please." 

Thomas looked at Newt and was startled at the sound of bubbly snickering. The blond had his head falling back, supported by his back, eyes closed and mouth apart, allowing the sound of laughter to breakout. Thomas joined him in bewilderment, eyes wide as he stared at his fiancé. Damn it, Thomas thought, that felt good. Newt's laughted faded out soon, but still had little chuckles here and there. 

"Okay, Okay, Okay," laugh, "Okay, Tommy-Baby, buy it for me then." Thomas gave Newt an odd look, as the blond is still captured in a giggling fit. Then, the next second he silenced himself, pulled a serious face and looked around quickly as if we were being spied on. Then, unexpectedly, he voiced the idea that had turned him into a laughing monster. 

"So, good one-k fo' da r-eeng, bra," Thomas eyed him in an amused expression, then looked at Newt who was talking like a stoner and hiding the box from our invisible spies. Then, it hit him, and so did the train of laughter. He pushed playfully at Newt's shoulder.

"Oh my God, you big idiot! I'm marrying an idiot!" and the laughter died down, and they were both staring at the other with an illogical smile, before one of them leaned in and closed the gap.

"Aha, I love you," Thomas murmured as he slipped the ring into Newt's finger. Newt shuts him up with a kiss.

"Now go to sleep and shut up, I'm tired."

They got married two days later, both in tuxes, with their closest friends attending the ceremony. The ceremony took place in both boys' room. Teresa was there, Chuck, Ben, and Clint - one of the doctors in training. Clint married them, it was a tough fight between Teresa or him, but the couple sided toward the med. 

"I, Thomas of WICKED, take you, Newt of WICKED, to be my beloved husband, to have and to hold you, to honour you, to treasure you, to be at your side in both sorrow and joy, in the good times, and in the bad, and to love and cherish you always. I promise you this from my heart," Thomas looked up to see that Newt had mirrored his glazing eyes, "for all the days of my life." 

Clinton looked at Newt and gestured with a hand to tell him that it was his turn. Newt nodded softly, exhaled and eyed the people in the room before he eyed Thomas. 

"I, Newt of this-fucking-shitty-experiment," everyone visibly winced because the news has spread around and all has heard of the soon-to-be separated spouses. Yes, they heard about the marriage, too, just the experiments, never the actual staff, "take you, Thomas of My Heart, to be my lawfully wedded husband, my constant friend, my faithful partner and my love from this day forward. In the presence of God, our family and friends," Newt's hand moved - indicating the audience and Clint, "I offer you my solemn vow to be you faithful partner in sickness and in health, in good times and bad, and in joy as well as in sorrow. I promise to love you unconditionally-" then someone interrupted him.

"YEAH, WE GET IT. YOU LOVE EACH OTHER LIKE ROMEO AND JULIET - ROMEO AND ROMEO, MOTHER FUCKER, WHAT EVER, JUST BLOODY GET ON WITH IT," Thomas knew it was Teresa. Both grooms gave Clint an ecstatic stare and he smiled, motioning them to exchange rings.

"With the power of medical associations invested in me, I now pronounce you Husband and Husband. You may now kiss the groom," and then they kissed, and if you asked them about this, they swear that it felt like the world belonged to them. In that moment were they infinite, content, and nonchalant. The room exploded with pleased cheers, bits of roses (God knows where Teresa got those from,) littered around the newly weds. Newt had his thumb and index finger perched on Tommy's chin, dragging his face toward his own, then bent his neck to deepened the kiss. When they both pulled away, Thomas looked around at his friends, family, and husband. His cheeks burning with the colour of a sweet rose. Who cares if they were barely seventeen? They had love, and in a world they live in, it's as pure as any luck could find. 

The entire corridor of their peers new about their wedding. No surprise there, Thomas thought. They were a close community, but still, they were divided into friend leagues. No one knew everyone, it's been okay because they have who they care about and who they need. Nothing for extra effort on making friends in such a dark time. So, Thomas should've seen this coming. 

He was delivering tapes and recordings to the head of the Beetle Blade assemblage, not really paying attention to where he was walking as he was staring down at his third finger where the golden band of whittled churns rest. Think about the day and thinking about the night was enough to make him simper and swallow down a bleat of happiness. Then he was towed into the a small room by his lab coat. The area was dark, and he had to squint to figure out who was sitting prior of him. The lights were turned on and he was surprised to see that the walls were of a gleaming white, and not some lurid colour. Ava Paige sat with her back against the chair and her arms overlapping on her chest. 

"I see that you've found a source of happiness, Mr. Edison," Thomas didn't like the way she spoke. The tone was grimy and nebulous. He didn't like it at all when he figures out that she is staring at his wedding ring. He brought a hand over it abruptly, forcing her eyes to land on his own. He saw that she was impatient, waiting for him to talk, admit that he has committed a crime of WICKED - falling in love. Instead, he looked at her then at his covered hand before returning his gaze on her as if saying, "So?"

"You are aware that affairs within staff members are strictly prohibited, especially to those of minor ages," she bent her head at him, "and since I can't have you two running along like something out of a happy planet with no incurable diseases lurking in the shadows, I'm offering a preposition. Stop the public showcase of affection, or else Mister Newt is sent out to the Maze five days primordial of his previous date."

Thomas felt a blister of conniption in the hollow trench of his stomach. When he voice his temper, the sound was vibrating with so much hatred and umbrage, "How dare you? Fuck no, he's my husband. We're married. What part of betrothal do you not get? I don't care if we're stuck in this metal cage of yours but that's not going to finish how much of our love is decayed in the other's heart. You can't do this. Go ahead with the trials but do not make me fight for you son's hand. It's revolting that you're sending your own kin into that bloody death trap. I can't believe you. No. Take Newt out next week," then he felt the dysphoria settling in his chest. 

"Please, let Newt stay for six more days," he sniveled, his call stabbing into the fat arm of the silence in the room. There were some guards with flashes of rue on their faces, recovering away by tilting their head another side as if that would block out Thomas' repugnant cries. Ava cleared her throat and Thomas tried to calm himself as he stared up at her void face. 

"I'll think about it," and like that he was shooed back to his cubicle, the guards not letting him return to his room and standing behind him to make sure that he does not run. Teresa was gazing at the two bulk men standing behind Thomas.

"Who are they?" she whispered, looking between bulk one and bulk two. I shrugged and told her that it was a long and complicated story and couldn't he just go back to his room already. 

The day passed slowly with the two Herculean behind him and trapping him in his work space, demanding for advance and Teresa in front of him, teasing about how Newt would rip their muscle to tendons bit to bit if they were to touch him. When the bell rang throughout the WICKED building, Thomas couldn't help but sigh in relief and dumped all his work into his side-bag, already too busy on focusing not to stain his shirt with the nearly spilling coffee in his hand. Teresa laughed and saluted him goodbye.

"Sorry, fellas, but this is when my shift ends. I'll see you the next time the Chancellor decides to mess with my husband and I," for a second, there was something of empathy flickering in the two husky guys' eyes. Thomas shrugged it off, bid Teresa farewell and took off to see Newt. When he opened the door his mouth fell agape.

"What... What's this?" he asked, Newt was on his bed with Ava Paige and her posse of muscular guys towering over his husband. Thomas gripped air with his free hand and his body shook, "I thought we had a deal." Ava Paige, his mother-in-law, smirked.

"Yes, but there were even more rumours of rebellion and love in the older staff and I can't let that happen, can I?" she shook her head at her own statement, "So, I had to get rid at least half of the power couple that is the cause of this... sudden behaviour."

Thomas lets his chest flare up and down with the deep breaths he was taking. He ran a hand to and fro on his head and looked at Newt, the boy looked like he had just been given an earful of a lecture, and judging by the bloodshot eyes, Thomas knew that he had strive for peace between the newly weds and the chancellor; but that wasn't happening any time soon.

Thomas tore his gaze away, "What... what does this mean?"

No one answered his question immediately like how he thought Ava would. Beat him down with the truth and rub it in both of their faces. It was Newt who stood up from his bed, fists clenched at his sides when he looked at Thomas it was like in their wedding - the communication between eyes. Thomas could see the amount of ferocity, drowsiness, and failure laced between his irises; it broke him. Then, again, Thomas' world collapsed everywhere around him. His knees gave out and he was on all fours, sobs climbing its way back out of his body because Newt said it rashly, as if he had been expecting this - that it was all too good. Newt's voice did not waver, it was as if it had been practiced. 

"I'm leaving for the maze tomorrow at noon. From now until dawn tomorrow I will be in the testing room, and an hour prime of midday, I should come over and bid you farewell, Thomas."

Tommy wanted to cry.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter :)
> 
> // kudos, comment, share //

"From now until tomorrow dawn I will be in the testing room, and an hour prime of midday, I should come over and bid your farewell, Thomas."

Tommy wanted to cry.

 

Thomas let out screams of agony when the sentence was finished, he kicked at his door, tried to pull his hair out, and choked on his tears. He felt two people restraining him as he was about to go for the Chancellor. His vision was blurry, but as soon as he caught the sight of his wicked mother-in-law, he roared with his teeth forming a cage around his words. Thomas kept on wrestling with the guards as they tried to shut the door to block out the commotion from the common room. He swung his legs up and down, using the muscular hands holding him back as support. 

"I'm gonna kill you," he bellowed, "I'm going to kill you and make you shut down this shit excuse of an experiment, let the Gladers return and give them their shucking memory back! I won't let you do this, Paige! No fucking wa-" and then a palm was held over his mouth in a tight clasp, and someone had shoved his body against the door. Then the punches and torture came. 

He could hear Newt begging in the background for the guards to stop, pleading at his mother, and crying for Tommy. Thomas held his eyes closed as they delivered punch after punch at his tired body. He tried to eliminate the sound of Newt sounding so broken, tried everything but nothing work. He took a peek at his husband, and the guard gave him a blow to his abdomen. He huffed a breath and locked eyes with Newt. The blond head's eyes radiant with teardrops, making the hazel colour stand out even more. Thomas offered him a weak smile and Newt let out a sob as he received another hit, this time it was at his side. He could hear his ribs crack.

"Ma, mother, please," Newt begged, "Please, ma. Please let me just say goodbye to him for today; I can't," Newt wasn't able to finish the sentence because the sound of convulsion from his husband made him sick. He reached over the trash can beside their bed and emptied his lunch. Then looked back up to see his mother, and gave her the best puppy-dog eyes he could master. 

Ava Paige wasn't a monster. As cruel as she was, she did everything she could to not involve her son into this mess. She had separated him from the rest of his peers in the compound because she didn't want him to know about the nightmares of the Maze. She had placed him with Thomas because she knows that he would take good care of her son, not like Gally took care of Alby or Minho. Sending Newt to the maze was because her staff was starting to rebel to the experiment and, also, because it would create an ever more interesting brain wave patterns. It's not that she wasn't aware of the little affair between her son and her favourite. She's got cameras wired all over the buildings, how was she able to avoid it?

When she found out about the engagement, there was something so human and maternal inside of her. She felt happiness and had to resist the overwhelming urge to go find Newt to congratulate him on finding a partner. But that couldn't happen because she was the Chancellor, she had responsibilities and duties. Who cares if she was a mother? No one. 

She wasn't a monster. No. She was a responsible, single-mother who is working on finding the cure to the disease that is eliminating the human race. So, she let him bid her son-in-law goodbye before dragging her son to the lab so that he could be prepared to enter the astringent environment of the Glade.

Newt ran over to where the guards had left Thomas, blue and beaten with no sign of life escaping from the tan skin. He crouched over him, as if trying to protect him from further damage. 

"Tommy, look at me. Tommy, please," his voice wavered and eyes were glossy but his hands were still searching around the boy's face for an answer, "please, answer me."

When no reply was heard, Newt let out a strangled sob. Slamming his fist onto the metal door that was the only thing, besides the floor, supporting Thomas' weight. His breaths were uneven as he planted a shaky kiss on the brunette's temple. He clenched his eyes shut, pressing his lips harder, also forcing even more tears out. 

"It's okay, it's okay, I love you," he whispered to the unconscious boy, as he leveled down so that his forehead was leaning against Thomas', "I love you. I love you. I love you, Tommy." 

Newt did not care that his mother, and her fucking guards, are there in the room with him. He needed to give Tommy a fucking goodbye speech, if that was the last thing he did. It would kill him even more knowing that he didn't get to say goodbye to Thomas before his memory getting wiped.

"I love you so fucking much, and I don't think that," he paused, trying to gather his breaths because somehow his lungs has stopped working, "I don't think that I'll forget you. Not even when these fuck heads wipe my memory. I won't let myself forget you, Tommy, you are my world. I can't."

Thomas started to stir, and at this sign of Life Newt placed his arms around his husband's waist and gripped him tighter as he buried his nose onto the nape of his neck. Thomas opened his eyes and the first person he saw was Ava and, holy shit, is she crying? Ava was crying. Thomas could tell by the way she clenced and unclenched her fists as she looked away from him. He was now aware of the cries in his ears and the arms that were holding him together. He reached for Newt's back, not needing to see his face to know that it was him, and rubbed slowly as they stood up together. He looked at the dark eyes of pain staring back and leaned in. 

The kiss was slow, filled with panic, but also of rigour. Thomas' hands were patting on Newt's side, with needy and hasty touches. Newt's fingers were drumming on the other's neck and cheek. Their breaths, a mixed frenzy, and pupils dilated. Thomas pulled away first, staring at the beauty of Newt's flushed face and pale, closed lids. 

"Newt, Newt," he said frantically, seeing the way the guards were approaching them now, "I love you, I love you, I love you, okay? Okay? Get that in your brain. Don't let them get inside and make you forget me. Don't forget me. Newt, I -" 

He was cut short by a guard ripping Newt away from him. The muscular guy roughly gripping the blond by his waist. Thomas slapped at the guy's triceps, ordering him to loosen the grip, to not hurt him. Newt was kicking before the other guard trapped his feet together, the only weapon of resistance was his mouth. So he shouted. Shouted so fucking loud, he's pretty sure that even the dead Gladers were able to hear him.

"No! No, please, no!" Newt screamed, flailing around due to the restriction of his limbs. They began carrying him out of their room and when Newt shouted, "Tommy, Tommy, please. DON'T LET THEM TAKE ME," he just sank down against the cold wall, not giving a shit if Ava was still there. He placed his head on top of his arms so that he was forming a fetal position. He groaned as Newt's cries faded into the narrow hallways leading for the lab. As time passed, he noticed that Ava was still there, standing over him like some pedophile.

"What do you want?" he groaned, not bothering to look up. Ava offered a crooked smile to the back of Thomas' head and grasped the door knob.

"It's for the best. You must understand that."

And like that, she left. 

 

That night, Thomas kept tossing around in his bed. He knew the cause of his insomnia. He didn't have Newt. He didn't feel his warmth, the long fingers, he couldn't feel blond hair on the side of his face - scratching at the skin like a cat's fur. It was painful; to be awake at three a.m. and knowing that at that moment, scientists had their hands all over his husband, trying to make him compatible to the maze. Poking and drugging him all the same. They think that everyone in the compound is asleep, but Thomas was far from it. Their room was close to the health trial lab. Therefore, anyone in the confinement that were supposed to be launched into the Glade, Newt and Thomas has heard their screams before. The screams of agony they make when the scientists had begun prodding at them to get results. It hurts. Thomas and Newt were aware. They have both been in the laboratory, have both prepared a new born Glader. It was not pleasant. Thomas hated where they had to overwrite their memory, digging into the innocent brains. 

Another scream echoed through the walls and Thomas found himself sitting upright, clutching at something invisible above his chest with dried tear streaks down his cheeks. If he stretched his tongue just a bit, he would've been able to taste the grief and the death in them. It killed him to hear the screams of Newt as he's going through the Swipe. His breaths were haggard as another scream pounded against the walls of his head. He tried sleeping for the umpteenth time that night, not surprised when he was still sober as fuck ten minutes later. 

When the bell came ringing, Thomas summoned himself to get up with drowsy, bagged eyes and dry mouth before taking a quick shower and brushing his teeth. He didn't rush out in fear of the Chancellor catching him late, The Chancellor can go fuck herself, he thought. So instead he took his time putting on his pants and socks, also getting the white lab coat and shutting the door behind him. 

As he began to walk to his monitor, he realised how weird that WICKED had painted most of their department white and most of their employees are drenched in white. Completely soaked in white, as if masking a raw innocence into the building and using it as a cover for what they were actually doing. Murdering a lot of teenagers. Like, the tables were white, the walls and ceilings, the coats, the shoes, the floor, and Thomas could go on and on about the fucking colour white but decided to stop as he reached his monitor seeing Teresa with a hesitant expression. Thomas stared at his seat before taking it and grabbing at the coffee that was prepared for him by god knows who. It was probably Teresa.

There were silent minutes of tapping away at both screens before the girl decided to speak up, "How was the night?" she asked with a timid voice, face void of emotion as she take in her screen. Thomas shrugged, not finding the will in him to let out to Teresa. When it was clear that she wasn't able to make him talk, she concentrated on her screen and began working. Thomas was looking over Gally's brain wave patterns when there was a loud commotion coming from the hallway leading to the Swipe Ward. There were a lot of clanging and shouts, but Thomas didn't dare look behind. Too drowned into heartache and misery and just no. 

But then, upon hearing a voice, he turned swiftly. 

"Thomas! Tommy! Tommy!" it came, begging for attention. Thomas gravitated toward the ground and looked around neurotically with wide eyes for the owner of the original voice. 

When he caught a scent of the sandy hair, he grabbed at the boy's body and pulled him by the neck. Careless on who had saw, he forced their lips together. Moving their mouths together feverishly with such a childish demeanour had his heart jumping with love. He clapped at the elder's waist, Newt's fingers clawing at his back. As they pulled back, it was just as quick as they dived in. Again and again did they exchange quick and agitated kisses. Newt pulled away breathlessly and leaned his forehead against Thomas' own temple. Newt was wearing a whole new Glader outfit, tailored specifically for him. 

"Tommy," he begged with a strain in his voice, "Tommy, they said that I was different. They dug deeper into my brain, something they don't do to others. They say that I'll remember, Tommy, I'll remember you." 

At the declaration and sudden news, Thomas lets out an exasperated laugh and kissed Newt again. Repeating the action until the blond smiled fondly at him back.

"I don't have much time," Newt explained with a rushed tone, "they're after me already. I ran out of the laboratory," Thomas grinned at this, "But I just want you to know that I love you." 

"Newt, God, I love you too," and Thomas dipped up again and captured the other's lips with his own. This time, teeth clashed and tongues were dancing with spirit. They broke away when they heard the previous clanging, taking knowledge of the guards that were after Newt. As soon as the taller boy caught a glimpse of the two bulky guys hunting for him, it was as if the previous speech and confidence were plugged away and all was replaced with a tremendous amount of phobia. He looked back at Thomas and pulled him back into an embrace.

"If you ever loved me, don't let them get me," he pleaded, fingers intertwined with Thomas' own. Thomas was a bit disoriented with the sudden change of ego, but he had to do what was right. Something in his brain clicked and he saw white for two seconds. He knew what was happening but he had no say in this. No strength in fighting the power engulfing him. He hated this, he hated being controlled. 

"Newt, I'm not allowed," he looked at Newt's scared eyes and gave him a stern glare, "You have to go in there, Isaac." 

 

Newt's mouth fell agape and he stood there, blabbing like a fish. When they reached him and had started dragging him away he began shouting, "TOMMY! TOMMY, NO, PLEASE! TELL THEM NO! THOMAS! THOMAS!" 

It was exactly like the previous evening, but now Newt had sputtered out a sob and fell limp against the two guys, letting them drag him away with a defeated sigh. 

"I hate you, Thomas. I never loved you." 

Tommy didn't understand whether to shout after him and fight for him or go to his room and have another session of breathless crying. 

 

When Newt had been dragged away successfully by the guards, he was placed into the box. The last things he said to Thomas before entering the maze hurt him, it felt like vomiting up nails. But Thomas just stood there and did nothing. He was on his knees, looking devastated and broken beyond repair, but he did nothing to stop them. Or at least delay them. It killed Newt. Did Thomas not love him back? 

They dropped him unceremoniously onto this chilly, metal board thing. He groaned in soreness and glared at the white light glaring him back. There were voices in speakers, no doubt transmitting the fact that SUBJECT A5 IS ABOUT TO BE LAUNCHED INTO THE MAZE. 

This part irritated him the most, to be honest. It was the same tone people used to call others to watch a special of a TV show or something like that. They had the nerve to use it for announcing the possible death of another teenager. How disgusting. 

He wasn't alone in the room, he knew that. He just wasn't able to see due to the light focused on him. He tried blinking away the brightness and cocking his head either side to see if he could see anything. Then a body hovered above him and held his bicep in place as they inserted the needle of the syringe. The person looked at him and caressed his head, messing his hair a little. 

"I'm sorry, Isaac. I'm so sorry," her voice was weak, and her hand retreated as he heard this machine whirring behind him. Then, the white light faded and he was being pulled into this long spherical looking tube before the metal board stopped abruptly, forcing him to land on his shoulder abruptly onto another metallic platform. He raised his head and looked around, it was the box. The box. Reality hit him like a freight train, and then the wooziness began. He fell down as the box advanced up into the maze entrance in a velocious speed. He closed his eyes, and his world fell into a dark abyss.

 

Back in the WICKED compound, Thomas was sitting on his chair, not bothered to stand up and crowd around the main wall and projector. His monitor was the closest to it, before the controller's ramp. This platform with six desktops belonging to the superiors of the experiments. The projecter showed the alarm firing up in the Glade and Thomas' hands grew sweaty. It was like watching your child go off for their first day at a new school. He hoped to god that Gally would just stay away. 

The box in the Glade opened and the six gladers were huddling around the box, waiting for the newest competitor. As the entry way slid open, Thomas felt his mouth go dry. One of the beetle blades where peering down, giving them a bird's eye view. Inside the metal coffin, there his perfect Newt lay. Blond hair messy, Glader outfit a mess, and his hand was underneath his head. He was sleeping. 

Thomas felt a laugh escape him softly, watching the way that Alby and Minho were looking at him with an odd thought. 

"The shuck-face's sleeping? How could he be sleeping through that life scarring nightmare?" Minho asked to no one in particular, which made Thomas laugh even harder because that's his Newt. The only Glader ever to make the maze whilst sleeping. 

 

Newt heard voices booming around him, he peeked with one eye, noticed that he was in a fetal position made him rise up and straighten his shirt. He looked up, blinded by the light, but saw the silhoutte of a hand reaching down at him. He slipped his own in theirs, and gripped tightly as he jumped up and pulled himself so that his waist was now on the edge of the Box. When he finally gathered his dignity, he looked around him and saw that there were six boys eyeing him back. 

"Afternoon, Greenie. Welcome to the Glade. The names' Alby, what's yours?" the dark skinned one, the one that looked most eldest, asked him. Newt gave him a questioning look, recognising Alby already. 

"Newt." 

"Do you remember anything, Newt?" this time it was an Asian boy, he peered at him looking him up and down as if calculating him in. Minho. 

"Uh," Newt muttered. He did remember things, like his name and his age, but he looked up and saw the tiny outline of the Beetle Blade. He pointed at it and whispered, "WICKED, you piece of shit."

Gally, at the edge of the semi-circle around the box, moved in slightly and cocked an eyebrow at the Greenie, "That's a Beetle Blade. The Creators are looking over us with it."

The Gladers were surprised when Newt stuck his middle finger, directing it to the Beetle Blade. Not taking his eyes of it he replied at Gally, "Yeah, I know. And I do remember something." 

This made the other Gladers perked up and listen at this new Greenie with messy blond hair who was showing the Beetle Blade the middle finger. 

"I love my husband, and my mother is a bitch." 

 

Thomas was heaving through breaths and laughs when Newt shoved his finger at the direction of the camera. He remembered, it made his heart soar with woe but love all the same; because even though Newt was stuck in that maze, he remembers. And when it's Thomas' turn, they'll remember. They'll remember together. 

The rest of the scientists that were huddling around the main wall had started to slowly crane their heads to stare at him, even the Chancellor. Thomas submitted a cock of an eyebrow before wheeling his chair back so that he was sat facing his monitor. Teresa smirked at the top of his head before shaking her head fondly and returning to her work. 

By the time that the crowd had dispersed, it was already two hours since Newt's arrival in the Glade and Thomas was staring intently through his Beetle Blade's point of view. They had all received one, just a few days Newt was sent of to the maze. Thomas had shared the code of his beetle to Newt, just in case. 

 

His Beetle was lurking in the shadows of the outgrown forest that the Gladers had called 'Deadheads,' it had an eerie feel to it because -ugh, of course it is,- it's the Glade's very own cemetery. There's countless of lives lost due to this experiment, the first groups - Group Z and Group Y, were launched three years before Thomas had touched a monitor and something went horrifically wrong with them that WICKED had to reset and relaunch the experiment again with Group A and Group B. It was something about the Variables and the people not being compatible enough. Let's just say, there is more than three dead bodies around the Deadheads. Thomas was playing around with his Beetle, staring at the horizon where grass meets the walls and reaches high up to the sky when he something kicking his camera from behind. He reared the monitor back, and then looking up with his camera to see it was Newt. Thomas had relief all over his face, but a frown quickly replaced that when Newt kicked his beetle again.

"Shucking WICKED," the blond muttered, "shuck everyone."

For a second, Thomas thought that he had lost Newt completely to the maze, even though it had only been mere hours since he first stepped into the Glade. Thomas tried hard, his mind buzzing with concentration the get the point to Newt that it was him. It was Tommy. 

 

The Gladers treated Newt like he was a shuck robot or spy sent by the Creators but Newt flipped them off and told them that, No, he did not want to be there and also, he hated WICKED. When the acronym first left his mouth, they all had a sketchy look to their faces and Newt did the second best thing since the middle-finger-in-the-air moment. He looked around, and dropped to the floor with his eyes closed and pretended that he had been unconscious. They carried him to the Homestead where the MedJacks proceed to dab him with cold water and wrap him in cloth. He peeked an eye in the process and nearly launched himself at the MedJack taking care of him, it was Clint, the guy who had married them - but restrained himself because he was supposed to be going through an amnesia. It was easier that way, plus, Newt knows nothing about the maze. Nothing at all. So, who cares if he didn't forget? 

By noon, they had him up and running. Alby showed him around the Glade and had already assigned him to the job trials. His first one were the Builders. He groaned in his head because he remembered Gally, and Gally was full of shit. He doubt that the fear of being captured in a Maze had changed his personality. 

Newt was right, Gally is still a fucking dickhead. Only three minutes had he been in that station and he was already instructed to go to get the cement. Newt groaned and made his way toward the uneven shrubs that formed the woods on the edge of the Glade. He kicked some rocks along the way, wanting to distract himself from the amount of dead bodies in the burial ground.

"Go get the cement, Newt," he muttered as he kept on walking, "It's somewhere in the middle of the woods. Oh, I'm sure you'll find it. Just keep walking till you find it."

As he recited Gally's wordings, he listened to himself and heard how dumb he sounded. Here he was, pretending that he had forgotten everything he knew, and the biggest fear at the moment is this giant bully that he thought he had gotten rid off. He sighed as he reached the cement maker. It was this slope of continuously running water falling in a downstream, flowing away to the edge of the woods. Beside it, there were four sacs of cement powder. He reached for the bucket that he had brought with him and scooped in a large amount of powder before placing the bucket below the downstream. He placed his hands around his waist as he waited and looked around. He saw a Beetle Blade not far away, looking at the Glade emptily. It was like it was frozen there, it wasn't moving - just still. Newt clicked his tongue and shook his head disapprovingly at how WICKED picked such bad people in the Beetle Blade assemblage, they didn't even know how the creatures worked, for fuck's sake. Newt should know. He was the one who invented it. 

He walked slowly toward the Beetle, already having the bucket of fresh cement in his hands. He was so close to turning off the Beetle when it turned around and its head popped up with extensive, fiery eyes. Newt looked down at the camera and cursed at it, knowing that WICKED knew exactly who he is and the person controlling the Blade just wants to mock him. Newt walked out slowly from the end of the woods to get back to the Glade and he could still hear the machine following him. He gave it another three seconds before stopping then shouting at the machinery.

"What do you want, huh? You've got what you wanted, why do you always have to mock me?" his tone was ferocious, he was on the verge of having a breakdown and just go on a spree of breaking things. The Beetle coward away but turned around, sticking its silvery hiney to Newt. He read the license number and gasped. 

2805A2

It was Tommy's Blade. Newt crouched down, leaving the bucket next to him and sat in front of the Beetle crossed legged. Then it began examining him. 

 

Thomas cheered mentally for his smart husband when he finally realised who was stalking him. It was as if Newt could see him staring back. Something creepy. Newt looked around and made a motion with his fingers, follow me. Thomas controlled the Blade so that it was following Newt. The blond led him to the corner of the Glade, as he sat down Thomas realises that Newt has got a nasty scar up his leg. For fuck's sake, Newt, it's only been a couple of hours. 

"Tommy, I don't think the like me here. Ever since I woke up, none likes me. I need to pretend that I've received the Swipe like everyone else but I remember everything. I remember so much. I don't think it's supposed to be this way," Newt confessed, Thomas could see from the shaky camera that he was looking down at his third finger. At his ring. 

"I just... It doesn't seem fair, ya know? They get the Swipe but I don't. I remember things, but I don't feel like telling them. It's all just... BLEUGH," he threw a rock by his side and hit a tree trunk three metres away from them. 

 

And that was how Thomas and Newt survived the first week of Newt in the Glade. Newt would sneak off to the Deadheads, crouch down next to Thomas, and vent about his day. It calmed Thomas to know that even if they were deadly separated, they still had a schedule. It had the same affect on Newt. Even though Minho, Alby, and him are hitting off better than the start - he missed Tommy dearly. Missed him every second he was in the Glade, missed him when he was eating or sleeping, when he is working. It never stops. 

That's why when Newt was promoted to a Runner, the Swipe kicked in. 

 

The scientists really wanted Newt to be the one to advance the Gladers further from where they sat on their one year work. They wanted him to lead the group, help them find a way out. They thought that it was best to lock his memory, for now, so that he had the ability to focus all day. His brain wave patters were different than the others due to Thomas being stuck here and him being caged in the Maze. The scientists knew that, and to prevent any errors, they blocked him out completely.

 

Thomas screamed. He shouted at his co-workers, kicked at Teresa when she tried to calm him down, and nearly choked Chuck as he tried to come and visit him in the room. They had told him the news by an e-mail to his monitor and he was down right pissed. He couldn't hold in his anger anymore, so he stood up and marched to his room. Their room. 

Each night after that, Thomas was waiting for his own Swipe to come around. For him to be dropped off in the maze with no memory of his past. 

It would be relieving, he thought, I would forget all this bullshit and pain. 

 

He could also forget the time where Newt tried to jump off the vines of the Maze. He is willing to forget that completely. It wasn't because it was a horrible sight to watch Newt fall and get hurt, no - that was frightening, but the feeling of being useless was tattooed on him and he, too, felt like jumping off a high building to pay the debt he owed to his husband for not helping him. 

Not that he remembers anyway. 

Thomas nearly had a heart attack one day as he was following Newt and Minho, the Runners, in the Maze via Beetle Blade and Newt's ring nearly slipped out. The breath that he had been holding in was released as he saw that as Newt was running, he secured the ring from falling off. He watched the two from bird's eye view and eavesdropped a little in their conversation.

"What do you think it means?" Minho asked as he took another bite out of his sandwich. They were in the Maze. Back leaned against the walls and knees bent to their chests. 

"What? The ring?" the blond interrogated back. Minho gave him a sarcastic look with his mouth still chewing silently and Newt submitted an eye roll before smiling and fiddling around with the ring.

"I don't really know, man," he had said, "I just know that it meant a lot to me, you know, before the whole I-can't-remember-shit phase. And, if someone were to walk out of the box with the same matching ring, I will question my sanity because even though I might not remember them, I do not want them stepping into this hell hole. No way." 

Minho cocked an eyebrow, "That's it?" 

Newt looked at him funny, still chewing on the dry and cold sandwich that is a minute overdue. Minho kept his stare for another millisecond before looking up and grunting.

"This person walks into the Glade with the same fucking ring and all you're going to do is worry about them? Why don't you kiss them instead? Regardless of who it is, person with other ring will be kissed as they enter the Ring." 

Newt laughed and nudged his shoulder with Minho's before taking another bite and staring up at the blue sky.

"Okay. Person with matching ring will be kissed. No explanations."

"Atta boy," Minho cheered as he packed up his lunch, "now, come on. We have three hours left."

 

Thomas received a kiss from a cute stranger the minute he stepped out of the box. 

 

 

\------------------------------------------


	3. Chapter Three

"Thomas, just stay still!" 

Thomas did not stay still. He bucked his hips against the air, arching his back so that his body was shaped as a crossbow as he tried to get rid of the feeling of the cold metal table that was piercing his bare back. His eyes were squinting as they fought hard against the blinding light. From the dark corner of his eyes, he could detect a whir of movements created by rushing bodies. His ears picked up the sound of shouting. Lots of shouting. Then the hot, white light was blocked by a sillhoutte. 

"Thomas, I need you to stay still," a hand weaved its fingers through his hair and he nearly jumped in panic because the action did soothe him.

"Don't cry. It's okay. I'll see you soon, yeah?" Thomas squinted his eyes just enough so that he was able to see the faint features of the silhoutte.

He gasped lightly, the tears paused dripping as he recognised her. She looked like a wreck. Her eyes were bloodshot from tears or exhaustion, he couldn't tell. Her complexion was paler, and her cheek bones stood out more. He worried for her wellbeing but the thought fleed from his mind as a shocking pain brought him back to reality. The spark of electricity pressed through his spine and then buzzed around in his skull. He tried to grasp his head to stop the hurt, but his limbs were restricted by belts and cuffs. Thomas let out a strangled scream. This was how he was going to die.

Then stopped. 

Because everything stopped. The noises, the blurs and whirs of movement around him and the best part, the torture. He wasn't sure if it was real or not, but for the meanwhile he would cherish the easy going state that drowsed his mind. Everywhere on his body was numb. He couldn't feel anything. Not his fingers, not his legs, not the blood that's coursing through his veins rapidly due to anxiety. Nothing.

For a second, he was deadly worried. Teresa's face blocked the light once more and in the slowest voice he has ever heard, said:

"You'll see him soon, Tom. Things are going to change. WICKED," she paused, "is good." 

Then his eyelids fluttered closed. 

-

Thomas doesn't know how long he's been stuck in the elevator of death. He grimaced at the smell of his own odor, and then felt the rush of stickiness that overwhelmed him. He felt the dried sweat that were gluing his hairs and skins together, he felt the shortness of breath as his lungs seized up and he coughed maniacly into the empty cube. He knows that the box was moving, he's just unsure of its destination. 

The box suddenly stopped, making Thomas grab onto the railing of the trap. His breathing has increased in fear and pain. There was a loud alarm that kept on repeating and slapping against his skull. He screamed as loud as he could, trying to outrun the volume of the annoying honking. It stopped, then there was a beam of light casting down onto the cube. It took him a little over a minute to regain control of his eyes and adjust to the brightness. 

There was laughter on top of him. People snickering and hitting each other. Thomas looked up, curious to see his crowd, and was greeted with the most relieving face that he's ever seen. Said face swooped in and pressed their lips on him chastely, earning cat calls from the bodies on the surface. The boy pulled away just as quickly as he came in and Thomas felt a tsunami of familiarity hit him.

Too bad he doesn't remember who it was.

There was a fleck of shock as the blond stared at his hands, which made Thomas stared at it too. He was too busy trying to reciprocate all that's around him when suddenly his lips were caught in a warm embrace. 

Everything went white after that. Thomas felt a surge of relief as the stranger took his head and pulled him closer. It felt like eternity before they pulled apart when in reality the kiss lasted for mere seconds. When the stranger shook his head back, Thomas regained consciousness on where he was. His cheeks were tainted red, and eyes blown wide as he tried to stand up, following his kisser. 

"I can't," he begins as the person start to stand up, "I can't remember anything."

The person huffed and Thomas wondered how he was able to get his hair gleaming like a halo. The stranger offered him a hand to take. He snapped himself wake and took it clumsily, ignoring the shock of electricity that the foreign skin made. 

"What's your name, greenie?" God. His voice was heavenly. 

"Uh," Thomas fiddled with the hem of his shirt, "It's Thomas." 

Was Thomas surprised by his stuttering? Yes. But then again, he's going through a lot of weird stuff so this was not something to get worked up on. The golden hair owner clapped his back and sighed.

"Well, Thomas, my name is Newt. Welcome to the Glade." 

Thomas learned that the Glade was this open stretch of land barricaded by tall rocks. There were huts, there were forests and kitchens; it was a large place. Occupying the Glade were males, ranging ages given away by their facial indents. Thomas looked around cautiously, still unaware of everything around him. Also, Newt. Newt and his lips. 

"What are you staring at, shank? Get to work," a voice bellowed. Thomas searched for it and was not surprised to find Gally, this really annoying boy whom Newt has introduced him to. The blond boy sneered at the brunette, causing him to trudge on without acknowledging the bully's existence. Newt had showed him the homestead and got a kid to help set up my hammock. 

"Chuck," he groaned as he searched around the field for the chubby kid. Thomas looked around everywhere, near the deadheads, and near their jail but soon gave up since there were no results indicating the whereabouts of his second favourite glader. The brunette kept on his search until a body bumped into his. 

"Whoah, there, Tommy. Watch where you're going, alright?" they snickered. Thomas pivoted himself around so quickly he could almost hear the air resistance on his chest. The blond boy seemed to be carrying a stack of craters, Thomas whined in empathy. 

"Let me help you with that," he offers. Usually, when a person is offering you a favor you'd thank them. But not Newt. Newt scowled at the greenie. His eyes were slits and his mouth a thin line. He held a defensive pose before spitting a remark at the newbie. 

"Listen tight, greenie. I don't need your shuckin' pity, okay? I can do things myself. So, don't be a slinthead and get out of my way." 

Thomas wish he could. But, weirdly, an unknown instinct switched something in his brain and he surges on the blond kid. Newt was about to bark some more insults when warm lips blocked them in. Newt muffled a bit before melting into the rhythm and embrace of the green bean. 

As they kissed, an inevitable itch scratched at the back of their brains. They knew each other, but how so? How is it this easy to make out with a stranger? How did he trust him so easily?

In the distance, Newt's name was called and Thomas ended the embrace quickly before lumbering away, with the same blush he had when he walked out of the box. 

Behind him, the co-leader of the glade stared longingly at the blue-shirt covered back, his lips scorching with the remnants of the interaction. 

"So, that's him?" 

Newt felt the bench sink in behind him as he placed another spoonful of Frypan's legendary soup in between his lips. Minho sets his tray beside his, and Newt swore that he could feel the heat radiating from the tired Asian boy. The noirrette spared his best friend another glance before nudging his elbow against the blond's making the spoon twitch and its content splattering to Newt's thigh. 

"Ah, shuck! Minho, what the fuck?" came the shriek. Minho grinned into his bowl as the gladers surrounding them spun their heads toward his directions, including the greenie. Those who came before the greenbean are aware that Newt rarely swore. 

Minho laughs as he watch Frypan hurry in to assess the leader with a white kitchen cloth grasped tightly in his hands as he tries to rub off the hot liquid on the pained boy. Newt hisses as he rolls up his right trouser sleeve, revealing a much expected pink burn on the inside of his low thigh. The blond swats Minho when Clint, the medjack, trotted in with gauze and a jar of petroleum jelly. 

Thomas sat three benches away from the accident, wincing slightly when he heard the hot meal splutter onto his romantic interest's thigh. Beside him, a wave of brown curls bounced slightly accompanied by a small chuckle. 

"Why are you laughing at pain, Chuck?" he asks with a hiss, feeling unknowingly offended by the kid's reaction to Newt's pain. 

Chuck's grin deflates when he saw how serious his new friend looked. His brows were furrowed to the front and had a small scowl to his lips. Chuck felt a minim of fear before he masks it with a small smile. 

"We don't get to laugh a lot. When the oppurtunity's handed to you, you gotta do it, greenie." Chuck reasons as he claps Thomas' back. "Hey, come with me, I wanna show you something." 

Thomas sent one last stare at the hissing blond before reluctantly follow Chuck to the firepit where the area was oozing with even more gladers. The newbie glared at the crisping pit and the laughing teenagers around him, the guffaws nearly made him choke up a migraine. He can't remember anything, not even where he came from or what caused him to be sent to this confinement. Thomas wasn't stupid, he knew that there was a reason for the walls and why he can't see a landscape extending to the horizon. 

"Frypan's the cook," Chuck yips, "but I bet you already know that." 

Thomas hums distractedly. It was great that Chuck was making an effort to get through him, heartwarming even, but he didn't need it. Nothing will work as a balm to his paralyzing anxiety. The boy just woke up several hours earlier, trapped in a moving elevator with a goat, then released with no memory? The sinking trepidation made his fingers jittery and eyes unfocused, his breathing already laboring perversely. 

Chuck was trying to explain about all the different jobs to his assigned partner when he noticed how silent the boy has been. He turned his head around to find Thomas grabbing the log they sit in aimlessly, his neck stretched far and mouth agape as he tried to swallow down air. Chuck's eyes glowed in realisation as he sprints off to alarm Clint, who was still assessing Newt's thigh. 

"Ow. It's alright, I think. Thanks for your help, Clint," Newt smiles, carefully pulling down at his trouser sleeve until it fell down soundlessly to where his ankles meet his foot. An ear piercing scream surrounded Newt and he could hear Chuck hurdling toward them, arms flailing, and bits of speech spitting out. All the blond needed to hear was his name before all the burn in his thigh evaporated and he took off to where Chuck had came from. 

Minho glanced at his best friend before returning his gaze hurriedly at the young slopper. "What's wrong?" 

Chuck's answer came out in pants of uneven breaths, "He... Thomas... Can't breathe..." 

The Asian furrows his eyebrows and gave Clint a silent gesture. The gladers around the fire seemed to not notice the crowd moving toward their leader and the greenie. Minho was only toes away from the log when Newt noticed them and shooed them away. The runner swallowed a confused noise but obeyed his friend nonetheless, the medjack and cook returning to their respected positions in the fire pit. 

"Thomas," Newt gasps as he slides beside the frantic boy. Thomas was a mess. His carob strands clung onto his forehead like a lifeline, his chest heaving madly, and his fingers were twitching at his sides. Newt looked the boy over once more before he took the boy's head and stuck their foreheads together. Suddenly, he felt a splash of pain in the back of his head.

"Tommy breathe with me. It's okay. I'm here. I'm here." 

The night was dark. Neither of their coffee eyes seemed to be able to outline the other's form due to the pitch black whole that consumed them. Thomas was gasping for air, eyes blown, and nose a little runny. He hung onto Newt with all of his fears chipping away. The blond breathes softly into the sweating boy's ear and pulls him into his chest.

"It's okay. Just a nightmare." 

Newt sucks in a breath but still held Thomas' neck so that their foreheads were glued together, and lips centimetres apart. There were the sparks again, just in the tips of his fingers, and he whines. How could this person, so clumsy and needy, be the partner of his former life? Newt casts his gaze over to Thomas' left hand and saw the band gleaming at him cheekily. He looks to his right, sitting just fine on top of Thomas' left hand, their rings were grazing the other. Unable to control his disorient and uninvited pride toward it all, he rushes in and molds their lips together. 

Thomas lay on his mattress, thoughts abound in his mind. Fresh thoughts, also rotten ones. Real and undecided thoughts. Real and contemplated thoughts. Newt had kissed him twice today. He had kissed Newt once. Each one sending a spark of fire to Thomas' pounding heart. When Newt and him had sat next to each other at the log, after Thomas had recovered, he talked about their rings. About how they were respondent. Both of them were tainted silver, they had the same carvings to it, and Newt wears his on his right while Thomas on his left. Was it true? Were the rings correspondent? Did they knew each other before the glade? 

The brunette sits up. He couldn't get rid of the thunder in his heart, which prevented him to sleep. Thomas grunts as he lifts himself up and walked aimlessly out of the homestead, unaware of the figure hot on his tale. The greenie marches with no command and finds himself on the watch tower where Alby, the other leader, had shown him the entirety of the glade earlier. When he heard a creak, he swivels and crunches his palms to a fist. 

"Whoah, easy there, greenie," the figure explains, holding his hands in surrender. "I'm not going to hurt you." 

"Oh," Thomas breathes, "sorry. I know, I should be heading back to the homestead and get some sleep. Newt told me I had to work at every station until you guys could find a place for me. Sorry for breaking the rules on the first day." 

The boy laughs at the greenie, and Thomas' brows stitched in confusion. He knew the Asian was someone of high rank in the glade. Shouldn't he be throwing Thomas back into the homestead or report him to Alby for breaking curfew? Isn't that how it works?" 

"Relax, greenie. I ain't one of your tell-a-tales," Minho explains, sitting down next to Thomas and dangles his feet from the edge of the watch tower. "I'm good with secrets." 

"Is that so?" 

"Yep. So, tell you what, I won't report about this little incident if you tell me what's going on with you and my bud, Newt." 

Thomas' cheeks redden. His eyelids flutter downwards to shield his eyes from the intruding glader. He had only been introduced to a few from the short time of him arriving to the glade, but he didn't know that some of them had the balls to actually be direct and straightforward with him. Minho pokes at his thigh when Thomas doens't answer. 

"Okay," he says finally, "okay. I'll speak to you." 

"Good. Answer me." 

Thomas turns his head to Minho and sighs. His right hand fingers the silver band that decorated his finger. "We have corresponding rings apparently." 

Minho's eyes flares with interest and recognisation, "Oh? You're him?!" 

"Uh," the greenie stutters, "him? I'm sorry, but we've never met before." 

"Greenie," Minho laughs, "can't believe Newt's got such horrid taste in men." 

Thomas scowls at the runner and stood up, making his way to the stairwell. The teasing laughter died down as Minho reclines backwards and grasped his ankle, reeling him back. He glances at Minho, waiting for an explanation. 

"Look, stay. I need to talk to you about Newt." 

Minho stares at Thomas until the boy grunts and unwillingly sits beside him again, both of them looking at the walls. 

"You see those rocks? Do you know what's out there?" 

Thomas hums, "Newt told me it's a maze. It changes every night." 

"Yeah," Minho chirps in appraisal, "good job, greenie. You're catching on." 

"Don't call me that. You know my name." 

Minho ignores him and continues with his talk, "Behind those doors," the Asian points, "he's had a lot of broken memories, okay? I don't need anymore that would suffer him." 

"Broken memories?" 

Minho ignores him again. "He used to be a runner. One of the fastest I've had, at least. You see that ring of yours? Well, sometimes at night I could hear Newt sob back to sleep. Like, early morning kind of night. This kind of night, during the sky transitions. 

"I don't know what Newt cries about. Sometimes it could be about his leg, but I remember he told me once when he came back from the maze that he didn't want the person with the other ring to come here. Then he also told me that some nights he would have nightmares and wake up crying, nearly screaming because the pain he felt was too overwhelming. 

"I never tell anyone else, of course. Not even Alby, for it wasn't my place to tell. On the days where after he told me that, when he still was a runner, every morning before the run I would see him walk over to me or play with his food with tear stained cheeks and red eyes. Then as time progresses, I noticed other things too. Newt almost stopped smiling. He was skinnier, his blond hair went into an unruly dirty colour, and if you see under his long sleeves - there were scratches. 

"When Alby and I found out why, we strictly managed his wardrobe so that he was never allowed to wear long sleeves. Not in any of our watches. When he told us, he blamed it on the ring. When Alby had suggested him to take it of and maybe he could throw it into the box, Newt punched him square in the face." 

"Newt, if it's causing you this much distress and distraction, I can't have you wear it." 

Minho snaps his head to the eldest glader, his mouth agape. Alby and Newt might've been friends but he and Newt were always closer. And if Alby did know Newt, he would've known just how much the ring meant to his best friend. 

"What do you mean?" the question came in broken stutters. Newt was a wreck, it was almost physically painful to look at him. His hair was dirty, his arms had long and angry scratch marks peeling down to his wrists, and his eyes were always glazed. Newt's lip quivered at the idea of getting rid of the ring, Minho could tell. 

"I mean it, Newton. It's making you slow and lazy. You've become distracted, and you nearly got yourself killed! We need to get rid of it. Maybe we could throw it down the box. Hopes for it to get sliced like that kid did." 

Newt bristles in his spot and stands up abruptly. His lean frame shivering with anger. Minho was nearly afraid of him. 

"Well, maybe I wanted to die, Alby! Maybe, I wanted to go away! Maybe, I wanted to be in the same place as my partner! Who the hell knows, Alby?! I wanted to die." 

The dark skinned leader welcomed the statement like a slap in the face. His eyes grew furious and he lunged on Newt, siezing his shoulders so that they were still and he made a move for Newt's right hand.

"Give me that ring! I ban you from wearing it, Newton! Give it to me!" 

"Over my dead body!" 

"Alby had this huge bruise on the side of his face for, like, a week. The entire glade felt the awkwarness but they continued working right through it. Alby never spoke about the ring again, and Newt changed. He told everyone that he was alright, but I knew that he's faked those smiles up till today. I heard you guys had a smooch in front of the whole glade this morning." Minho made a kissing sound for emphasis and Thomas shoves him playfully. 

It was nice hearing Minho talk about Newt. It made him feel like he's regained something new, but old all the same. Something that was rightfully his. Although hearing Newt hurt felt like a dozen stabs to the back with knives. 

"Yeah. He, uh, kissed me." 

"Oh?" Minho had a mask of amusement. "That son of a bitch did it." He looks at Thomas and gingerly smile, "I'm proud of him." 

Thomas wanted to ask what did Newt do exactly, and why Minho took pride in the action, but left the questions for a rainy day. For now, he was settled with sitting with the runner and glaring at the rock walls that confined them in. 

"You know what, greenie?" 

"What?" 

The greenie had moved his head so that he was staring straight at the side of Minho's face. The Asian huffs a breath and turns to him, his face graced with a dopey smile. And for the first time that night, Minho used his name. 

"I'm glad it's you, Thomas."

\---

 

"I bloody despise oranges."

Thomas whips his head to the blond next to him, his mouth dropping in awe. "What?"

Newt shrugged as he tossed the pompous fruit that lay innocently on his tray to the floor. On the next table, Gally scowled, "Watch it, blond boy," but didn't say anything further, the fight still fresh like a fire in his mind. As if reading his mind, Newt smirked as the boy scrunched his eyebrows further before ripping his eyes back to the dull grey palette in front of him.

Thomas tilts his head, and Teresa meets his eyes from the other side of the table and she sends him an amused shrug before returning her attention to Frypan. Beside him, the clatter of forks and knife ring in his ears. "Um, okay, why?"

It took Newt a second to realise that the question was directed at him. Slowly, he paused inhaling his plate and rests the utensils on the edge of the tray. He looks Tommy in the eye, "Why what?"

"Why do you hate oranges so much?"

Newt stares at him with the same level of intensity, those cedar irises shooting holes into his forehead. Thomas supressed the shiver creeping up his spine. Then the tension breaks and Newt's jaw softens and his eyebrows slips from its attached state.

"Why are you so shucking offended? Are they your shucking favourite?" he says teasingly, hands retrieving the utensils. Thomas blubbers like a fish.

"No? It's just a weird thing, that's all."

Newt doesn't even look up but Thomas sees the way the corners of his mouth lift as he tucks his chin back into his meal. "You're a weird thing," he murmured petulantly.

Thomas smirks as he goes back to his lunch, but not before he mutters, "Your weird thing though."

Newt chokes beside him and tries to swallow a piece of chicken down his throat. When he reaches for his water, Thomas noticed the way his cheeks flush and feels that glimmer of pride deep in his chest. He did that.

From across the table Minho makes a gagging sound and throws his bread roll at Thomas' fringed forehead.

"Get a room!"

\- 

Thomas inhaled the shit out of the hammock he's lying in because suddenly he's jolted awake and the stupid thing won't stop swinging and he realises that everyone is gone. The sun nipped at his exposed arm as he reaches around him to get a grip of the swinging bed. In the distance, he hears the Gladers buzz around in their daily chores. Daily chores.

Right! He had to meet Alby.

Thomas quickly looked around the homestead. There were boxes aligned with the edge of the tent, and as he makes his way to them, the labels on top focused from its blurriness. Side by side, the wooden carts were each scratched a label. The one in front of him stated 'Runners,' and the one on his right read 'Baggers.' His eyes cross a little as he tries to make sense of these words when a warm hand dragged him out of his misery.

"What are you up to now, greenie?"

Though his wording was a little offputting, Newt's tone was soft, almost fond but Thomas thinks it's just because he looks like an idiot and Newt finds that amusing. (He does.) The brunette flaps around for an answer but grunts when he can't seem to structure even a sentence in front of the boy, Newt huffs as he reads the labels out to him.

"These are the jobs here in the Glade. If you want to be one of us, you do your part, no slacking. I don't know if Alby told you this yesterday, but for the first week you have to go around and try on each job. Trust me, it's just as fun for you as it is for me."

Newt seemed to pause, his words fading into the static air of the homestead. Thomas looked up to see Newt deliberately staring at his chest. He risks a look down as well, but when he found nothing he gave Newt a confused look, "What?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing," the blond snaps out of it as quickly as he entered it. Thomas thinks he saw Newt's cheek colour, but it was probably the shitty lighting in the homestead.

"So, where do I get a shirt?"

Newt's eyes open. If he was surprised by the question, or startled, he didn't show it. Newt moved around with a silent grace, checking over each crate with a seriousness that held his body stiff over the box. He makes a soft triumphant noise that caused a throb in Thomas' chest, it wouldn't go away until he pressed his palm and rubbed his chest. The blond walked over with a loose grey shirt, long sleeves and its edges looking ready to tear if Thomas so much as breathes in it. He flashed the blond a quick smile, unaware of the way Newt sucked in a breath as he shucks the shirt on. Once it's done, Newt was left gaping at the ghost of Thomas' hard lines drawing his abs...

"You okay?"

Newt snapped his eyes up and, for good measure, furrowed his eyebrows and dipped his lips into a frown. "Yeah," he says lamely, trotting towards the exit. Just as he leaves, he stops but didn't turn around.

"You're going to want to be by the builders in three minutes. Gally doesn't like tardy shanks."

Working with Gally was a nightmare itself, but working in the hot sun under Gally's instruction was hell. Thomas was panting both his lungs out when Gally had towered over his crouched being and kicked at his side.

"Hey! No sleeping on the job, shuckface. You better get up and get us more cement; God knows that's all you can do."

Cement. The word rang inside Thomas' mind, rattling his brain but never to a conclusion. There was an itch in his head that desperately needed to be scratched, but his fingers weren't long enough. Gally kicks him by the side again, harder this time, and his rib cage is so close to giving out but before the blond could do much else, Thomas got up and started stalking into the deadheads with a bucket in his hand.

Fetch us some cement.

Thomas' heart beats harder as the sentence rang in his head, but he wipes the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead and trudged on into the Deadheads. Somehow the eerie gloom that welcomed him was a warm balm to his previous headaches, and Thomas wasn't sure how he feels about a graveyard calming him down. Not far from where he entered, the earth beneath him gave way to a deeper part of the forest, hidden from the sunlight. Thomas marched on, an empty bucket swinging back and forth and rustling against his pants-clad leg. The leaves crunched beneath him, and he stops for a second to inhale the musk that the trees carried. Something deep in him seemed to unfold, but recoils on the last minute, a migraine surging into his head.

"Agh," he groans, his hand coming up to massage at his temple as if that would release it from the agony. The bucket rolled down the hill, but Thomas seemed otherwise preoccupied to so much give the rolling bucket a second glance. His throat felt tight and the back of his eyes burned, next thing he knows, his knees give out and barely caught himself on his elbows.

"I always liked the trees," a soft voice whispered in his head. Thomas looked around, unsure if he was the only one in the space. There was laughter, his own he realised with fear.

"I remember trees. They were green, beautiful and bright green with the... uh... the paper green things," his voice trailed on, something akin to content and relaxation seeped into the words. Thomas nearly scoffed in disbelief, he wasn't so sure about happiness. Then again, when has he ever even said those words? 

 

"My mum would let me out before the sun..." there was a choked noise and Thomas turned around to face nothing again, he was alone but who are these voices? He waits for a few seconds until the voices die out for sure and continued on with Gally's stupid request. 

What are trees anyway? 

 

\- 

 

Lunch has him on a table with Chuck, the little boy listing off all the things he found in the other graders' beds animatedly, and chuckling off when he deems something inappropriate. 

"It was all," Chuck grins as he scrunches his nose, "white and sticky..."

"Okay!" Thomas says flustered, his cheeks tinted pink under all the mud caked on it. Chuck howls his laughter as Thomas tries to regain his appetite. 

"Hey, Chuck," Newt says easily, as he slides into their table, "why are you so red?" 

Chuck tries to breathe, he tries to, but ends up snorting in the end. Newt's eyebrows pinch together before he lets out an amused laugh as he starts to dig into his lunch. Today Frypan made some sort of porridge with vegetable stew, all of the veggies were picked fresh from yesterday's harvest, and Newt seemed really proud of it. 

"Nice stew, Frypan," he calls out, his head still tucked in his meal. 

Frypan pauses handing out meals to reply, "Nice vegetables, Newt." 

Thomas watched, somehow transfixes, by the way Newt's lips curl into a slow, prideful smile and the way it disappears momentarily to let the spoon in. He must've been too caught up by the way Newt's lips move because someone kicked his shin under the table, causing him to spit out his porridge all over the table. 

"Ah, shuck, greenie," Newt mumbles, flicking off the bits of porridge that landed on his bicep. His open, toned bicep. 

Thomas grabs his shin under the table to avoid eye contact, but he could tell who kicked his shin by their stifled laughter. 

"Chuck!"

Chuck goes down in another round of laughter. 

Lunch went on swimmingly with Newt and Chuck trading stories about their works, and the occasional offer to Thomas to share about the walking embodiment of Satan. Occasionally, Thomas would sneak a glance at Newt, and duck his head when Newt's neck so much as twitch. That was until Frypan comes to their table bearing a basket of oranges and Newt makes a face. 

"I bloody despise oranges." 

Without thinking much of it, Thomas mumbles, "I know," and grabs one off the basket anyway. 

Newt gives him a strange look, but just before Thomas could retort back with a sense of familiarity rushing in, the alarms surrounding the gates shriek away indicating the closing of said gates. 

But where are the runners?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-------------------------------------------
> 
> Major thominho broship feels rn. 
> 
> someone teach me how to breathe. 
> 
> Anyway, yes. THE STORY OF NEWT'S DEPRESSION KILLED ME TO LIE. 
> 
> AND ALBY IS AN ALBITCH FOR DOING THAT, AMIRITE?
> 
> Now, please. I need your help with something. If you guys truly love this fanfiction: I need you to share it to your friends or followers on your fan account. It's been labeled as Restricted by wattpad since I uploaded it and won't let me upload if I change its rate to pg 13. So, please. I beg of you: help me advertise this. 
> 
> Thank you so much in reading. 
> 
> Ciao, 
> 
> L


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